


Grind

by queenhomeslice



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Frottage, Grinding, M/M, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Soft feelings, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23217289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenhomeslice/pseuds/queenhomeslice
Summary: Jaskier has fun in Geralt's lap
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 361





	Grind

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All Witcher fiction belongs to Andrzej Sapkowski; The Witcher TV series belongs to Netflix; The Witcher video game rights belong to CD Projekt/CD Projekt RED. I do not own the rights to any copyrighted material; I am not affiliated with any production companies of The Witcher games, tv shows, books, or other media; and I am not making money from this.

Jaskier pushes his face into his Witcher’s shoulder, teeth grazing tanned, bulging muscle. His hands are clasped behind Geralt’s head, lute-calloused fingers tangled in clean white hair—Geralt's hands are settled on his narrow hips, gripping soft, slightly fatty flesh hard enough to _bruise_ , just like Jaskier wants it. Geralt’s cross-legged on the bed, and Jaskier’s locked his ankles behind the small of Geralt’s back. 

He can feel the monstrous length of Geralt’s cock beneath him, half-hard and leaking. Geralt is _hmmmm_ -ing in contentment, sucking soft kisses into the oh-so-sensitive junction of Jaskier’s neck and shoulder. They both bathed, earlier—but they’re ready to get filthy all over again. Jaskier moans as his cock drags up and down Geralt’s hard, defined abs. He’s not ready for it to be over, not just yet. He’s content to grind his body against Geralt for hours, or until the Witcher loses patience—whichever comes first. Or until _he_ comes first, which is very likely. Geralt always knows how to milk multiple releases out of Jaskier by the time he’s only come once. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathes into strong, scarred, sweat-slicked skin. He speeds his hips, whole body writhing with the friction. 

Geralt hums and holds him still as he grinds up, up. “My sweet songbird,” he whispers, voice dripping with lust. He’d never imagined falling into bed with the bard. They’re opposites in every way—old versus young, stoic versus animated, reserved versus charismatic. Yet he was surprised to find that Jaskier saw everything good in him—called him a _good man_ , a _compassionate man, more human than most humans, you’re not a monster,_ _Geralt_ _, and you’re beautiful—_ and he was surprised to find that his emotions weren’t gone, just buried. Jaskier had fucked them to the surface in a way that Yennefer did not, and Geralt was content to let Jaskier take everything he himself was willing to give. 

“Oh, darling,” Jaskier keens, shuddering. His cock is red-hot and hard, leaking his love all over Geralt’s muscles. 

The Witcher places another wet, open-mouthed kiss to his bard’s skin, inhaling his spiced, earthen scent. His sweat tastes like liquid sunshine to Geralt’s heightened senses. “Yes?” Geralt purrs. “Having fun? Getting your fill of me?” 

“I’m, _ah_ , not _full_ of you yet, my love,” says Jaskier, leaning back to look Geralt in his honeyed eyes. The golden hue is barely visible around blown-out black pupils, and Geralt’s nostrils are flared, chest heaving with slow, labored breaths. 

“Hm,” says Geralt fondly, dragging thick fingers up Jaskier’s ribs, squeezing lightly. Jaskier is so _fragile,_ so _human,_ and Geralt wonders what good he’s done in his life to warrant someone being so intimately trusting with him. Jaskier takes care of him—draws his bath, washes his hair, works hard on making good music so that people will pay him his worth so that Geralt can have a fine room and hearty stew and the best ale—and Geralt can’t give him much in return but his hardened heart, whatever’s left of it. 

Jaskier seems beyond pleased, curling like a cat into Geralt as he finally comes, finding the Witcher’s lips and spilling his jagged moans into Geralt’s pliant mouth. Geralt holds Jaskier tight through his shudders, the feel of Jaskier’s hot release all over his skin putting a deep, primal urge in the pit of his stomach. 

Jaskier slumps forward, breathless and spent—for now, anyway. He knows he’ll come again. He whispers against his lover’s skin, “Your turn.” And Geralt’s thick fingers squeeze his ass and slip into his willing channel, working him open so Geralt can finally slide home where he belongs. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you liked it! #TossACoinToYourAuthor


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